


Lone Digger

by FoxCollector



Series: That's Not An Actual Pick-Up Line [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Background HashiMito, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Cookies, Gen, Hashirama's awful pick-up lines, Hints of MadaTobi, Implied IzuTouka, M/M, Madara is blunt, Or at least Izuna has feelings, Pick up line competition?, Pre-Slash, Tobirama has feelings too, Tobirama in an apron, really bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 16:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11695521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxCollector/pseuds/FoxCollector
Summary: Hashirama and Madara end up in a kind of pick-up line contest, and Tobirama is stuck judging.My tribute to blackkat, who is honestly the best.





	Lone Digger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/gifts).



> I guess you could say this was inspired by blackkat's "Pick Me Up" but credit also goes to my brother who is responsible for Hashirama's particularly bad lines, which really made me want to write something.
> 
> Honestly, half the rare-pairs I'm into right now are because of Kat, so I had to pay her back somehow. Thanks for being awesome, Kat-senpai!
> 
> Title is from Caravan Palace's song of the same name. I hope this amuses you guys!
> 
> Read, enjoy, review!

            If Tobirama didn’t love his students so much, there was no way he would be doing this. It’s not to say that he would never bake cookies, just more that he wouldn’t be doing it today. At Hashirama and Mito’s, because their kitchen was so much bigger than his. But alas, when Hiruzen and Kagami had turned big, round eyes on him and asked if he would be making something for the bake sale…well, what was he supposed to say?

            And it would have been fine really, if Mito had been home. Tobirama got along well with Mito, she would probably have offered to help (and actually meant it) and they could have talked all day.

            But no.

            Mito was at work, called in to cover a shift for a friend she couldn’t refuse, and instead Tobirama was stuck with Hashirama, whose idea of helping was sampling the cookies to make sure they were sufficiently tasty. And sure, Hashirama would actually help with the dishes and clean up afterwards. Usually. If it was just the two of them.

            But Madara was also there. Because he apparently had nothing better to do than hang out at Hashirama’s all day.

            What this actually meant was that Tobirama now had an audience, as Hashirama refused to leave him without 'help', and Madara just refused to leave.

            After being forced to listen to Madara’s comments about the fact that he was wearing an apron (what, was he supposed to get flour all over himself instead?), and then Hashirama's laments about not buying a Batman apron, Tobirama had finally been able to start getting things set up. He was going to have to at least double (maybe triple, if Hashirama had his way) the recipe, and he laid out all the ingredients on the counter. It made for a daunting task.

            There was music blaring from Hashirama’s laptop set up on the table, some upbeat jazzy song Tobirama didn’t recognise, but unfortunately it didn’t drown out Madara and Hashirama’s conversation, which was currently about Izuna’s inability to spit out his feelings. Feelings Madara was convinced he had for Touka.

            Tobirama actually agreed with him on that front, and actually had the insight to know that Touka was waiting impatiently for Izuna to say something. Despite Tobirama’s protest that she could make the first move, she’d insisted it was the principle of the matter, and if Izuna was too proud to say anything, they would never get anywhere. Tobirama didn’t point out the irony.

            “How’s he supposed to even know if she likes him?” Hashirama asked. He leaned back in the old chair, making the seat slide around.

            “That’s why he has to say something,” Madara answered.

            Tobirama shoved a bowl of baking margarine into the microwave to soften it, resigning himself to the conversation.

            “But what if she doesn’t like him, and he tells her, and then she rejects him and he spirals into depression?” Hashirama said.

            “He has to take that chance,” Madara started. He crossed his arms.

            Hashirama cut him off. “Wait, I wasn’t done yet. He spirals into depression, runs away from home and ends up joining the circus, where they all laugh at him and then one day he steals an elephant and elopes with an acrobat and the three of them end up sharing a house with an old man named Bob, and they’re trapped in a loveless marriage because Izuna could never love again and they die old and alone and you never see him again?” Hashirama paused for dramatic effect. “It could happen!”

            “What?” Madara asked, incredulous.

            “Brother, no,” Tobirama said. He dragged a hand down his face and then turned to pull out his melted margarine.

            “I just think you need to be careful with your feelings, that’s all,” Hashirama pouted.

            “So he just has to feel it out then!” Madara said. “You’re married, what the hell did you do?”

            “Well, it was okay, because I knew Mito liked me.” Hashirama nodded, his expression almost smug.

            “Oh, really,” Tobirama muttered under his breath, whisking margarine aggressively.

            Madara actually let out a snort of laughter. “Yeah. Right. You only knew because your brother told you.”

            Hashirama turned red. “That’s not – The point is, Izuna has to be careful. Because I know I could have ended up in the circus.”

            Tobirama measured out the brown sugar, watching his brother and Madara over his shoulder for a moment. Sometimes, well, most of the time, they were complete idiots.

            “How is he supposed to be careful then?” Madara pressed.

            “Well, like…he could make…like a flirty comment and see if she responded to it!” Hashirama said, as though it were a fool-proof plan.

            “Like what, a pick-up line?” Madara asked flatly.

            “Yeah, like… ‘Hey baby, are you a multi-vitamin? ‘Cause I need you once a day,’” Hashirama said, his voice going mock-suggestive.

            Tobirama and Madara both looked at him.

            “That’s not an actual pick-up line,” Madara said. Though he didn’t look sure.

            “That was awful,” Tobirama said.

            “What? Okay, fine, I made it up. I couldn’t remember any actual pick-up lines!” Hashirama protested.

            “It could have been worse,” Madara said, directing his comment to Tobirama. Because of course he had to find something to disagree about.

            “Really? Because that wouldn’t work on me,” Tobirama said.

            “I’ve got a better one,” Hashirama said. “Are you a measuring cup? Because you tell me when I’m too much.”

            “No,” said Madara.

            “That was line of sight,” Tobirama said, waving his measuring cup at his brother.

            Hashirama scowled at him for a second.

            “Thank god you never had to try that on Mito, because you would not be married,” Madara said. He leaned back in his chair, raising his chin and attempting to look far more superior than the conversation warranted.

            “Oh yeah? Well, let’s see you do better!” Hashirama said, levelling a finger at Madara’s chest.

            And, oh dear. That was a challenge.

            Madara grinned, his expression clearly saying ‘challenge accepted’.

            Tobirama inwardly groaned. Maybe he should run away to the circus.

            “Okay fine. Are you salt? Because I’d like to throw you over my left shoulder,” Madara said.

            Tobirama glanced at the salt in his line of ingredients and sighed.

            “Ha! That’s kind of funny,” Hashirama said. Then he paused. “I don’t think it would be effective though…”

            Tobirama could almost feel his brother’s eyes on his back as he mixed in vanilla.

            “Oy, Tobirama. How effective was that line?” Hashirama asked.

            “Why are you asking him?” Madara asked. “He doesn’t care.”

            “Because he’s impartial. He’ll tell both of us what sucks!” Hashirama insisted.

            “He’s not impartial. But fine. That’s true,” Madara said. Then, “So, how about it? My salt line, or your brother’s measuring cup line?”

            Tobirama turned around to frown at them. “They were both awful. No one would go home with either of you.”

            Madara looked insulted, but Hashirama laughed.

            “Okay, okay…let’s go again,” Hashirama paused. “Okay! Hey baby, are you a mixing bowl, because I’d like to put all my…eggs…in…you. Wait.”

            Madara snorted. “What, are you some kind of alien?”

            Tobirama would have face-palmed if he wouldn’t have splattered the mix everywhere. Sometimes he wondered how he and Hashirama were related.

            “You can’t just go line of sight all the time,” Tobirama said. “Because that was truly terrible.”

            “Okay, fine, it was.” Hashirama laughed. “Your turn.”

            “Uh,” Madara said, He paused thoughtfully.

            Tobirama didn’t like the way his eyes moved around the kitchen. There were only so many cooking-based pick-up lines he could endure. He cracked an egg into the bowl, and Madara’s eyes fixed on him for a moment.

            “Hm. Are you an oven-mitt, because I can’t take the heat without you,” he said. He nodded smugly.

            “Compared to Hashirama’s egg line, they’ll be falling all over you,” Tobirama said sarcastically.

            “Fair enough,” Hashirama said, “Okay, how about this one? Hey baby, are you a recipe? Because I’d be lost without you.”

            “I feel like that applies more to a map,” Madara said.

            “You’re not wrong,” Tobirama agreed.

            “But if you don’t follow the recipe, you’ll get lost!” Hashirama insisted.

            “Maybe you will,” Madara said. “But you shouldn’t use recipes to navigate anyway.”

            Tobirama sighed, finishing whisking the eggs in. This was going to be massive when everything was mixed together.

            “Whatever. Your turn!”

            “Shoot. Um,” Madara paused. “Are you a microwave? Because I can’t help melting around you.”

            “I like that one!” Hashirama laughed. “Oh! Hey baby, are you a hole in the house? Because I wanna build my nest in you!”

            “Brother, what?” Tobirama dead-panned.

            “Seriously, are you an alien of some kind?” Madara was almost laughing.

            “Dang it. I was thinking about bees. I should have tried something with honey,” Hashirama said with a frown.

            “You should have,” Tobirama agreed. He measured out the flour carefully, and then moved on to cornstarch, the ancient nemesis that always made a mess no matter how carefully he worked with it.

            “Just, you know, that time at Touka’s, when her neighbours had that hole in their house?” Hashirama gestured in what might have been the shape of bees infesting a house.

            “I remember,” Tobirama said archly. He’d never seen so many bees before. It had been disgusting.

            Hashirama turned his attention to Madara, who seemed to be considering the sink. It made Tobirama worry.

            Madara seemed to spend more time thinking than Hashirama, even if his lines weren’t great. He seemed as though he might actually be trying, which was sort of scary. Tobirama really hoped Madara wouldn’t try any of these on strangers.

            “Got one?” Hashirama asked.

            Madara smirked. “Are you the Titanic? Because I’d like to go down on you.”

            Tobirama could feel his ears heat up and knew they were red.

            “Dude!” Hashirama exclaimed. “Well, that’s blunt.”

            “I thought it was good,” Madara said with a shrug. “You. Better than bees, right?”

            “That’s not hard,” Tobirama managed to say. He focused on measuring out the right amount of baking soda.

            “I’m winning,” Madara said. He sounded smug.

            “Nuh uh,” Hashirama protested.

            “Oh yeah. It’s a good thing you’re married, because no one is going home with you with lines like those. Except maybe some aliens,” Madara said.

            Hashirama spluttered. “Oh yeah? Well…Are you pepper? Because I’d like to grind you up!”

            “That’s…kind of violent,” Tobirama said. He poured the salt in over the flour.

            “Damn it. I meant, like, grind on you or something like that,” Hashirama said.

            “It’s a good thing your wife can’t hear these.” Madara taunted.

            “Yeah well, you’re still single. Where’s your line now, flyboy?” Hashirama said triumphantly.

            Madara huffed. “…I’m too busy to be in a relationship. And my line is, ‘Do you need a lawyer, baby, because I’d like to get you off.’”

            Hashirama burst into laughter, Tobirama dropped the cup of chocolate chips into the flour, and tried to play it off as intentional.

            “Okay, okay, you win!” Hashirama said. “Maybe you can actually take someone home with that!”

            “Yeah, maybe. If they’re desperate,” Madara said.

            “He’s pretty blunt,” Hashirama said, and he was suddenly right behind Tobirama. He snuck a hand in to steal a few chocolate chips.

            “Very,” Tobirama said.

            “At least you’re not doubting my intentions. I certainly don’t want to build a nest in anyone,” Madara said. He was watching Hashirama as though he also wanted to steal chocolate chips.

            “Hey, I was upfront about that, I don’t see the issue,” Hashirama said. “So Tobirama, would you go home with him?”

            “If I was desperate,” Tobirama said, deciding to play off of Madara’s earlier line.

            Hashirama started laughing again, and had to sit back down. Madara was up then, having apparently decided he did want to steal some chocolate.

            He stepped behind Tobirama, closer than was strictly necessary and stealthily stole a few chocolate chips.

            “How desperate are we talking?” Madara asked, voice in his ear.

            Tobirama froze. He had no idea whether or not he was joking. Madara didn’t usually joke with him, but when he was in a good mood he would occasionally include Tobirama in the jokes. On the one hand, if he responded seriously and it was a joke, he would never live it down. On the other hand, if he responded with a joke and Madara was serious, that would be the most awkward thing in the world. But why would he be serious?

            ‘Izuna just needs to say something.’ That could mean Madara was applying the same logic to himself. Or it could be a coincidence.

            And he was overthinking things. He always did that.

            He dumped the flour mixture into the brown sugar mixture and moved to stir it. Madara was still behind him, apparently watching him make cookie dough.

            “Not desperate enough to go home with anything planning on bursting out of my chest later,” Tobirama replied.

            Madara snorted, and he seemed at least satisfied. He returned to the table, where Hashirama was changing songs until he found one he liked. He finally settled on a slow song, that was almost romantic.

            “You know, if Izuna tried any of your lines on Touka, he’d probably get punched. Then maybe kissed,” Hashirama said.

            “He’d probably like that,” Madara said with a wince.

            “He should just say something to her directly,” Tobirama said. He glanced at them over his shoulder.

            Madara was watching him out of the corner of his eye.

            “Maybe she’s just waiting for him to get over himself and put her first,” Tobirama continued.

            “He could do a grand romantic gesture,” Hashirama said. There were almost hearts in his eyes.

            “Whatever happened to ‘he should be careful’?” Madara asked.

            “He could woo her with flowers. Or chocolate. Or cookies. Are the cookies ready yet?” Hashirama looked expectantly at the empty oven.

            Tobirama was placing the dough along the pans lined up and greased on the counter. “No. What makes you think you get any?”

            “Well, I have to test them. They might not be good for the kids,” Hashirama said. “I’m really a hero, you know. Willing to take that bullet.”

            “Right,” Tobirama said.

            “Who even buys flowers anymore?” Madara asked.

            “Sometimes I buy Mito flowers. She likes Foxgloves. Tobirama likes flowers too sometimes. He likes Red Spider Lilies. Probably because they grow in graveyards and he’s mean and doesn’t give me cookies.”

            “You can try _one_ ,” Tobirama said. He’d never hear the end of it otherwise.

            “Yes! And Madara too,” Hashirama said.

            “Madara what?” Madara asked. He’d apparently tuned them out completely.

            “You want a cookie, right?” Hashirama asked.

            “Probably,” Madara said.

            “You mean, yes, please, very much,” Hashirama said. He leaned in, whispering mock-conspiratorially and loud enough for Tobirama to hear. “He’ll get offended if you don’t pretend.”

            “I will throw this spatula at your head,” Tobirama threatened.

            “See?” Hashirama said.

            “Oh,” said Madara. “Gosh, I sure would like a cookie.”

            “Say please and I’ll think about it,” Tobirama said. He bent to put the first batch in the oven.

            “Yeah, Madara, just say it,” Hashirama said. “Then you can tell Izuna it worked.”

            Madara sputtered for a moment, like an angry cat. “I don’t- you- how dare you.”

            Tobirama wasn’t even sure which one of them he should be mad at. He cocked his head to the side, sliding his phone into the apron pocket with the timer going.

            “Fine. Please,” Madara said.

            “One each,” Tobirama said. “And Brother, you have to help with the dishes.”

            “Damn it. One cookie for every dish,” Hashirama said, trying to bargain.

            “One cookie, period.”

            “One cookie to test, one to do the dishes,” Hashirama countered.

            “Fine. Deal,” Tobirama agreed.

            “Yes!” Hashirama fist-pumped.

            “I hope they’re terrible.” Tobirama crossed his arms.

            “No, you don’t,” Madara said.

            Tobirama watched him out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then turned away, checking the cookies just for something to do.

            If he was being honest with himself, he wouldn’t have to be desperate at all. If Madara would just ask.

            And sure. He was aware of the irony.

 


End file.
